Still just a Little Boy
by Wynth
Summary: She showed him a new side to his art that he'd never have recognised. What's more, she helped him with himself; finding, learning, accepting who he was at heart: just a little boy. The great Sasori never did truly grow up. •SasoHime / BLExNAR / Oneshot•


_Warnings? Maybe OOC, but hey, I was exploring. Regardless, treat it as if it wasn't meant to be OOC and tell me how to improve... please? :3

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**~STILL JUST A LITTLE BOY~

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He smelled.

Yes, it was blunt, but Sasori couldn't deny the fact that there was a rather... annoying scent wafting from him—apparently—that had earned him a few comments from other shinigami from time to time. Honestly, they just didn't understand. They didn't understand anything from his past life, which was the _exact _reason why his odour was supposedly unpleasant.

But no, they couldn't be bothered asking. They just walked right up to him and pointedly say "you stink."

Sasori wasn't one to react to insults, in fact they bounced off of him like he was still in his puppet form, but once it kept happening, he was beginning to get a little worried.

He wasn't used to there being a scent from him. Normally he—well, used to—smelled of wood and shavings, as he was made of said material and made wooden puppets, but now, as a shinigami, he once again had human flesh.

He couldn't get the hang of it.

What's more, there was the whole ryoka matter. The talk about them was merely a thorn in his side which he tried persistently to get out by ignoring, but no, he was asked to help hunt them down, even though he didn't want to as he had other—more important—matters on his mind. His Captain, though, didn't accept it, so he left and made it look like he was actively searching for the ryoka.

Pfft. Human emotions were annoying. He had felt nothing but anger and irritation for the last three hours as he lay on a tree branch, absentmindedly carving out a small figurine from a small piece of log he had found on his journey to his favourite tree.

No one would miss him, so he didn't care. He was considered a black sheep amongst his Division.

And then his thoughts went back to his constant irritation, and Sasori couldn't hide it any longer.

Growling, the red-head ditched the chip from the wood towards the ground and jumped off the high branch in annoyance. His worn fingertips ran over the rough and sharp edges of the puppet-in-making in his hand as he slipped his small dagger back into his robes. He stalked down the white paths, lidded brown eyes slightly narrower than usual as his sandalled feet pushed through the dusty ground.

He had to ask someone now. He had to ask someone of his own accord, and not have someone come up and inform him. It singed his pride.

Up ahead, he saw a figure—he let out a sigh of relief before an angry growl pushed up his throat. That was his victim.

It was a female with a head of bright orange hair that was mainly down—it was long—with a little bit held up in a blue clip. She was garbed in the shinigami robes but he didn't know from what Division. She looked quite interesting from behind, mainly because she was peering around the corners as though she was wary of something; her back was to him, so he approached her quietly.

"Hey, you," he said, crossing his arms.

Sasori's eyes glistened with amusement when the female froze. He could feel fear creaming off of her, though he did wonder why. And then, much to his chagrin, her aura switched to... relief...? Excitement? And he raised a red eyebrow in curiosity.

She turned, a single word—or name, rather—slipping out of her mouth. "Ichigo?" She stopped short when she caught sight of him, and her grey eyes slipped to disappointment as she raised a hand to her lips and blushed. "Oh, sorry." And then fear filled her as she stared wide-eyed at him, her small frame shuddering and releasing waves of fright.

What an interesting reaction.

Sasori didn't realise he was that _scary_, but apparently he was. As a ninja he was much scarier, but now his appealing looks seemed to attract more than scare—if they got passed his apparent aroma. "Indeed," he drawled, lidded brown eyes peering down at her; she squirmed. She looked like she was planning some sort of escape but he didn't want that yet. He had to ask his question first. "I need to ask you something."

It was more of a demand than a request or a statement. Regardless, her eyebrows skyrocketed before lowering in uncertainty. He noted the bead of sweat that licked her brow and cheeks. He noticed that she still had some of her baby fat—cute. Sasori smirked.

And she squeaked, shaking her hands in front of body and chuckling nervously. "I-I got lost. Honestly. Hehe. S'ok. I don't need help. I-I can find my way out. I-I needed to find a certain place." She continued to yammer about... something or rather—honestly, Sasori drowned her out when he realised that she was nervous, and when nervous, some people just talk. Brown eyes went hollow as he faded her voice out and just watch her movements.

It was annoying. And he was losing his patience.

"Stop," he commanded. She flinched, and Sasori finally noticed that at some point she had edged further away from him without him realising. "I don't know what you're going on about, but it is not as important as what I have to ask you."

The female paused, blinking, grey eyes peering curiously up at him that Sasori felt the urge to just shove her away and stalk off to another victim. Her gaze was... intrusive.

"Don't-Don't you wanna know what Division I'm from?"

Sasori snorted. "I couldn't care less."

"Really?"

"I'm growing impatient."

"Sorry." Her lips firmly sealed and her expression went totally serious as she nodded at him. "Your question?"

Sasori sighed. Normally he wouldn't have waited for people to prepare to hear him out but it was something he had to learn when he entered Soul Society eight years ago. What's more to that, he realised that his personality had changed somewhat since becoming a shinigami. But he didn't know why or how.

He closed his eyes and waited for a few seconds, trying to figure out how to ask the damn question without coming off stupid. He hated fools. And then he opened them, lids half over them as he matched her determined gaze. "Do I smell?" And then he watched her like a hawk, gauging for any reactions.

At first she looked confused, one eye growing larger as she stared at him quizzically. And then she smiled, then giggled, and then Sasori felt sort of... uncomfortable as she flittered around him and sniffed, her small nose twitching curiously.

He tensed, frowning, regretting completely of asking this girl such a question that was a pain to him.

Then all too soon, her inspection of him was complete and she stood before him, a massive smile on her face that was unnerving the red-head shinigami. Why was she smiling? Did he do something amusing? He didn't think he did. He just stood there, scowled, growled and glared at her.

Now he wanted to get out of there. "Well?" he asked gruffly, hands enclosing tighter on opposing biceps—this was a sign of impatience.

"I don't know what you're talking about! You don't smell bad at all! In fact, I kinda like it!"

If he were an animated character like he had seen in the human world once or twice... he would have sweatdropped. And now he was confused. Everybody thought he had a scent that was to their disliking but this girl...

...was just weird. "You're weird."

She frowned, crossing her arms, making her breasts come out a little more—not that he noticed...—and pointed a finger at him, waving it in front of his face like she was a mother scolding her child. "Who was the one asking a complete stranger if they smelled?"

"Touché."

She laughed and then clamped her hands together. "I think it's a wonderful scent. It's sort of like a rough, wet wood kind of smell, along with a hint of ash that is quite strong. It's musky, and has an almost metallic edge to it, but I like it!" And she took a step towards him, pressed her nose to his shoulder and took another whiff—Sasori was stoned.

The nerve!

"Hey!" he protested, grasping her tiny shoulders and throwing her off of her body. To his miscalculation, she was catapulted a few metres from him, dust clouding her body and her limbs in a tangle as she cried out in pain upon her descent. Sasori resisted the urge to rub his temples as he stalked over to her sprawled body of black and orange, his face twisted into blatant irritation.

He only asked her one question!

He hovered over her, brown eyes narrowed as his shadow shaded her head. But he paused. He had to admit—as he tilted his head to the side and lightened his expression—she did look sort of... pretty... with her long orange hair splayed about her heart-shaped head like that and her grey eyes staring back up at him with curiosity.

Sasori didn't say a word before she shot up and bowed in apology, muttering some sort of excuses that were too fake for him to even listen to.

Her orange hair... reminded him vaguely of that pink-haired kunoichi he had battled before his death. Sure, their hair colours were vast in differences, but they were both unusual that people wouldn't easily forget the person. And as he raked his eyes lazily over her small, delicate frame, he realised—belatedly—that this female did not carry herself like a fighter.

The red-head's eyes narrowed in annoyance.

Great, he just asked a non-fighter a rather personal question. Then again...

His eyes twinkled with curiosity—this caught her eye and she stopped in mid-sentence and blinked—before he re-crossed his arms and spoke. "You're one of the ryoka, aren't you?"

Colour drained from her face—rather amusing actually—and her large eyes grew in fear as the sweat started to accumulate on her brow. Her shoulders lifted, as though trying to make herself look bigger, like a cat, either that or look smaller, and she retreated back a few silent steps.

Sasori had to admit that the blatant fear on her face definitely made him feel good. He missed the days when he was ninja and people ran in fear at the mere sign of his Akatsuki cloak, or the mention of his name. He was known. He was a known killer and skilled ninja that people almost had no choice but to cower in fear.

Yeah, he missed those days; and the little mouse before him delivered.

"It's okay," he said. She didn't look convinced as she took another step back; he took one forward and she flinched. "I'm not going to give you away; though that hair..." he eyed the orange locks cascading over her left shoulder.

Her fingers timidly grasped the hair by her neck and weaved her fingers through it nervously, bottom lip quivering.

Sasori frowned. He was growing impatient again. "I'm _not_ going to give you away," he stated more firmly.

She inhaled shakily. "W-Why not?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "You want me to?"

"N-No!"

He chuckled and to his amazement, her expression went from fear to something he wasn't used to at all. Her doe-like eyes of light smoke gazed at him almost... affectionately, that it made him uncomfortable so he staggered back a few steps.

Affection was something he was not accustomed to, and her attitude changed so swiftly to this emotion that he wondered if there was some sort of reason. He wanted to know. He wanted to know what gave her the permission to gawk at him like that! So he asked.

"What?" he snapped harshly—shoot, too rough.

But the ryoka didn't flinch; instead, she smiled, lighting up her shaped face. "Can you please... laugh again?"

Sasori faulted. "What?" he repeated more calmly than before, but it was a brewing storm within him. She was getting too close for comfort—and he couldn't believe he was still there taking it.

And he certainly didn't feel like chuckling again!

She giggled, hands clasped together before abdomen as she took a daring step towards him, her sandalled shoes scuffing the top layer of the earth. Sasori's eyes darted around her, trying recklessly to figure out what was going on in this woman's mind. He was supposed to be the one scaring her, not the other way around. Who knew his chuckles could evoke this sort of reaction?

Right then and there, Sasori Akasuna vowed not to chuckle again in the presence of a female. Who knew what sort of effect would occur if he _laughed_?

Maybe he was getting ahead of himself though.

"You sound like someone... precious to me," she said wistfully. Her eyes faded to a memory, he could see, before they focused back seconds later. Sasori recalled that when they first met, she had said this name.

It was Ichigo. Who was he? A lover or something?

The ex-nin nodded for her to go on, even though she would have done so without his permission.

"And he frowns a lot." She shook her head. "I don't really like it. I like his face and all but... it would be nice to see a smile on his face..." and she looked him square in the eyes, "...or hear a chuckle from his lips."

Sasori's own mouth was taut as he swallowed. He didn't know how to react, so he just kept his lips sealed and gave her a lidded stare. She didn't say anything for a few seconds before a huge smile broke out onto her face and she giggled.

Females were confusing; and moody.

"You show more expression than he does," she states, finger to her lips, pondering.

She didn't know it, but that only ticked the red-head ex-nin off. He was a ninja before, a puppet, was devoid of emotions and the like. Sure, he did have the off expression—such as curiosity for the pink-haired wench that helped in his demise—but other than that, he didn't 'express' much; yet this girl said he did compared to a human.

A human!

"You are getting on my nerves," he scowled.

She frowned, wagging a finger at him again. "Expressions are healthy." She clapped her hands together and proceeded to make gestures to each point on her list for why it was so. "They show what you're feeling. Can attract people. Are amusing. Positive emotions can be good for your body. They—"

"—expression and emotion can hinder you in battle," Sasori bit out, fingers digging into his biceps.

The ryoka pouted. "If that's so, then why are my friend's and I here?"

Sasori scoffed. "I don't even _know _why you're here."

"To save someone important to us."

The red-head paused.

Long ago, those words would have made him sneer at the weakness of the speaker but now, as a human, he couldn't deny that emotion did get you somewhere. He felt irritation quite often, and this irritation often led to training, to him getting stronger as a shinigami—irritation coupled with anger. He felt peaceful at odd times, and this led to an interesting find with Captain Hitsugaya—despite the fact that Sasori still didn't like the shorty; he was one to talk though. Not to mention peace led to the finding of his Zanpaku-to and a deeper meaning into himself.

So now, Sasori couldn't deny the logic behind it; that emotions can spur one on. It's just that, after so many years as a wooden puppet, he had forgotten how to react to certain things. He had tried to train himself to be devoid of emotions but was unable to.

Despite how silly it sounded, he couldn't actually control his emotions.

True, he had acted like his usual with this ryoka and with the other shinigami since his time in Soul Society, but his insides were cooking up a stir. He had tried his best to keep so many things within him, to act his normal way, but he was not used to the control of them and often lashed out in odd ways.

Which was probably why he was avoided, as well, like the plague.

To them, he was just strange—stranger, compared to some people he'd seen.

Sasori dropped his gaze to the floor. "Who is this person you're risking your life for?" He still thought it to be ridiculous to risk one's life for another, thus his beliefs and such hadn't changed.

"Her name is Rukia."

He snapped his head up and narrowed his eyes at her menacingly. To his surprise, she glared right back at him, her determination set within her like stone. She was willing to go the distance. This ryoka was willing to die to save a shinigami—one that he knew had been missing for a while in the human world—and he could see in her future that this determination would never waver.

It was... everlasting within her.

He gave a wry smile, tilting his head away and looking up at the shining sky. To think emotions could be everlasting.

Maybe, just maybe, he had been wrong all along. Or at least hadn't recognised another side to his art. He remembered the carving that was now within his robes, rubbing against his bare skin.

She was... interesting.

He found himself wanting to learn more from the girl.

"Rukia Kuchiki," he sighed, disbelieving that he was actually planning to help the ryoka. "Rukia Kuchiki is being kept safe, secret. I believe her position changed from the prison barracks to the white tower, where she awaits her punishment in the next few days." She nodded, listening intently. "Soul Society is like a stronghold, girl," Sasori said, matching her determined eyes, "it's going to be harder to get out, than to get in." Then he smiled sincerely; her face lit up. "Unless you know the way."

The ex-puppet master held out his hand and the orange-haired ryoka gingerly grasped it, fingers sliding over each other.

* * *

"Oh dear," Orihime gasped, fingers to her mouth as she stepped dazedly down the alley and pressed her back against the dark wall. The red-head shinigami, who was now her friend—despite his reluctance—slowed to a halt as she did, his brown eyes scooting before and behind for any sign of other shinigami.

"What?" he asked. His hands lingered over the hilt of his blade, his Zanpaku-to; Orihime shook her head and tore her gaze from his hands and weapon, forcing them to stare at his face.

She giggled awkwardly, twisting a strand of her around one of her fingers nervously. "I was actually with someone when you found me."

He raised an eyebrow. "You were alone."

The human giggled again. "You see, I left him to scout in a different direction. I did it without him knowing I left, so he's probably looking all over for me."

The red-head glared. "We're not going back."

Orihime pouted. "But—"

"If we go back, it will be harder to get to Rukia and isn't that the entire reason why you are here?"

She stared at him hardly, bottom lip slightly puffed into a sign of irritation with the man before her. It was clear that he was a little shaky with relationships and thus emotions—hence why he questioned her motives several times on their short journey—but he had also been a little insensitive as well.

He had a point, however.

"But what if he runs into trouble and—"

"He won't have to look out for you if you're not there. You don't strike me as a fighter."

She resisted the urge to slap him for insulting her, but the conclusion she had conjured up fifteen minutes before prevented her so.

Her conclusion? That this man was like a little boy at heart.

Orihime had a feeling that something did not go pleasant in his history, which lead to an outcome that she saw before her. He was rude and impatient, clearly showing signs of restriction on his emotions, but said emotions were flowing off of him with ease that it was no doubt irritating him. But yet, he was like a lost boy.

She had seen it. Many times in the hour they had been together, he had been scrunching up his nose and frowning as though in deep contemplating or internal debate. And each time it would result in him staring/glaring at her. She could feel the confusion in his eyes, that it made her realise that this man was most definitely not Ichigo.

Ichigo seemed to know more about what he wanted to feel than this one did.

The schoolgirl found it refreshing, actually.

"Why didn't you do it?" he asked, his baritone voice—so very similar to Ichigo's—pulling her from her thoughts. She blinked at him in confusion, all anger gone. "Why didn't you hit me? I could tell you wanted to, but you didn't."

"Because you're a confused boy," she stated.

The wall around her burst into rubbles, forcing a squeal from her lips as she dropped to the floor and covered her head, feeling small pebbles and dust shower on top of her. All she did was speak the truth; she hadn't expected him to act so badly. His crushing reiatsu was hazardous, stealing the air from her lungs as she trembled like a broken kitten before a ferocious dog three times her size.

Only he was around 1cm taller than her, and he wasn't like an animal. Again, she depicted it, through her fear, that he was a child throwing a tantrum.

He was more like a child than he cared to realise, and obviously it was a very touchy subject for him.

"I could leave you, ryoka. Leave you to your own devices, somewhere in the middle of Soul Society," the red-head man growled, his short fringe shivering with the power he emitted; Orihime squeaked.

"You-You would have done so already!" she screamed, eyes remaining sealed shut. She didn't know if screaming was necessary, but the pain was noisy that she had to to even hear her own voice.

And the pressure disappeared, her fingers still entwined deeply into her head of hair as she shakily exhaled, her bulk shivering like a newborn kitten. Saliva accumulated in the cave of her mouth as she breathed. It was painful. It was like she was being forced into the earth, the weight of a thousand tonnes of water pressing down on her to crush her but yet she wouldn't. For the briefest of seconds, Orihime thought of death, only to quickly discard the thought.

Gingerly, she opened her grey eyes and peered fearfully through her stringy fringe, trying to see the red-head shinigami who was undoubtedly more powerful than she had first thought. His brown eyes weren't resting on her, in fact, he had a hand covering them, his thumbs and fingers shadowing over his forehead with his bangs hanging over them. His dry lips were slightly as he opened as he breathed evenly.

Did he have a headache or something?

"Are you in pain?" she asked despite the harm whizzing throughout her body.

The shinigami let out a breath that sounded somewhat like a chuckle—her heart lightened—and he shook his red mane. "No. No I am not."

"Are you just saying that?" she asked again. Orihime wondered if she was pushing her limits with the man.

He sighed. "Maybe." He slipped his hands into the sleeves of his shihaksho as he looked away from her slouched frame. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, ryoka. Please. Do not delve further. Do not try to understand me, to find who I am. I'm not sure I'm worth it, the effort."

"But—"

"Now Rukia must be precious to you for you and the others to be here."

Orihime let the matter slide and instead answered his question as she rose to her feet slowly, using the remains of the wall as a grip. "I am more doing this for a friend. She is precious to him, a friend."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You do not know her?"

"Oh! I do. She's a friend of mine as well, and is precious but..." her eyes went downcast, "...I'm also doing this for his sake. Because it's something he wants."

"'His'? This wouldn't happen to be the body you were talking about earlier?"

"Hm hmm." She nodded, the ends of her lips low before her mind suddenly changed and she beamed at the shinigami—the interesting man—in front of her. "I just realised!" She laughed. "I don't know your name!"

"My name isn't necessary," he said, gesturing for the both of them to continue on.

Orihime frowned. "And why not, Mr Grumpy-pants?" A pout curled onto her lips as he looked over his shoulder at her. She resisted the urge to squeal when his mouth lifted into a half smile.

"Why would it?"

"Well," she went into teacher pose, "because it is one's identity. People know you by this name; talk to you, laugh with you, contact with you, love you and so on. It's a unique thing that everyone should have as it defines who they are. Furthermore, since it's so special and unique, it sticks to you like glue. It's with you and in the memories of everyone you knew forever, even when you're dead."

The shinigami went completely still as Orihime pointed out a few more reasons, unaware that he had stopped listening right after she said the word 'forever'. She didn't realise how important that word was to him, but she had said it nonetheless, relating to him.

She had no idea just how much he was beginning to appreciate the shy, fragile thing she was.

"—dn't have a name, then how would people get your atten—"

"Sasori," he interrupted, his back still to her though his shoulders were loose, relaxed. It was like he was at peace. Little did Orihime know, that a smile was now on his face.

She blinked. "Sasori, huh?" Her eyes softened. "It suits you."

"And yours?"

"Huh?"

Sasori looked back at her again, making her body suddenly create little fuzzies of tingles that started to dance around her nerves. He looked so content. "How else am I supposed to get your attention, girl?"

Orihime paused before she giggled. "My name is Orihime!"

"'Woven Princess.'" He chuckled. "It suits you, I guess." A wry smile crawled onto his lips as he glanced back up to the sky before trudging on, his hakama swishing around his legs as Orihime silently followed behind, the fall of her steps loud to his ears.

"Thank you, Sasori."

"This way," was all he said but she smiled fondly nonetheless.

* * *

He hated that man. He hated everything about him. From his walking style to his ever-present smile on his face. What's more, he hated his reiryoku. If anybody else heard his thoughts, they would have said that he was afraid of the man, and he was reluctant to admit that he was indeed scared of him.

There wasn't much of anything that could complete such a feat but Gin Ichimaru just screamed an aura that sent Sasori's hair on edge and made him want to avoid him at all costs. However, the Captain had caught onto his tactics and would cut him off for fun, something that did not make Sasori a happy camper.

He disliked people getting in his face, and he was one of them. His Lieutenant was another he wasn't particularly fond of, mainly because he resembled his previous partner as a ninja; Deidara. Sasori did wonder where the boy was, also whether the rest of Akatsuki was in Soul Society, but he chose not to look, knowing that they would climb the ladder into the Seireitei and join him in the squads if they were.

Come to think of it, he heard news that the Omnitsukidō had captured a dangerous criminal in the Rukongai who had been sacrificing residents and spouting nonsense about some god. It was, without a doubt, Hidan, and Sasori wondered how the immortal had made it this place if he was immortal. He didn't question it, but found it amusing that the foulmouth had been given the job of a 4th Division shinigami; cleaning.

The almighty immortal was reduced to a maid.

Sasori hadn't met up with him and didn't intend to. His memories to his past were hard enough, though he honestly wouldn't mind meeting Deidara again.

The pressure of Gin's strength brought him back to reality, and he heard Orihime whimper against his chest in pain as her thin fingers buried into the black top he wore. He bowed his head over hers, his arms wrapped around her torso to keep their space as small as possible.

Ichimaru was looking for them.

Sasori damned the fact that he caught the interest of the man by disliking him, and wished that this ryoka was not with him. No doubt the Captain already knew that the female was there, and was merely now just toying with them as he walked around calmly, purposely releasing his reiatsu that also caused Sasori's brain to hammer.

And then it was gone, leaving the two—shinigami and human—in a deafening silence with ringing ears. They panted continuously, catching their breath as they remained clench.

That man was the one being—pretty much—that Sasori didn't mind admitting weakness to; and again the red-head cursed the fact that he lost control of his emotions.

But the reduction of the pressure was suspicious. It was like the silver-head Captain was caught doing something and hurriedly tried to stop his actions before someone else came along. Whether or not that was the reason, he felt another presence with Ichimaru before the two aura's disappeared.

They were alone.

Slowly Sasori unclasped her shoulders, listening to his chest ache with a beating heart—it was something that took a very long time to get used to feeling—and hinting that Orihime could now get off of him.

However she didn't.

He could tell that she was fine, her breathing had evened and such, but she remained against his chest, her ear pressing against him. Sasori unconsciously made his heart beat faster, and as he stared down at her through red locks, he could see a smile slip onto her face.

Sasori scrunched his face up in confusion, pushing her off of him roughly and trying not to care if she was actually hurt or not by his action. "Are you alright?" he asked, referring to the heavy weight that was previously pressed down on them. Orihime nodded numbly, her grey eyes staring quizzically at him. Feeling the expression on him, Sasori shuffled a bit before glaring back at her. "What?"

"You have a nice heart beat," she said.

The red-head tensed. Never before had he heard those words. He had always worked with wood; cold and hard and unfeeling. He never thought of what a heart beat would sound or feel like if he pressed his ear to another's chest. It never occurred to him, partially because he was never exceptionally close to someone to even think of it.

Yet he was curious now, and he unconsciously placed a hand on his left breast, his fingers curving his pec. It was a few seconds, as he stared at her while also concentrating on his hand, before he felt a slight thump against his palm. This caused another one to hit instantly after as he felt excitement and awe creep into him.

It was... amazing, put shortly.

"Is yours the same?" he asked without realising, but found that he didn't entirely regret the question.

Orihime cocked her head and placed a hand on her heart and then quickly pressing it against his—he moved his hand away to his side, still resting against the wall of the alley. She smiled. "No."

Without asking, he pressed his large, calloused hand above her breast, earning a blush and a light squeak, but she didn't stop him. And he didn't pull back.

Just like before, he felt her heart beat pulsing against his palm. It was stronger than his, beating a little faster as well. He could actually feel the blood surging in and out of the organ, whereas with his he hadn't noticed.

He guessed that she had a big heart after all.

It was a scene that Sasori would always remember.

And he realised, then, that memories were for forever; just like she said a name was.

* * *

The two gazed up at the looming white tower not far from them; it didn't look far but appearances were deceiving considering it took a few days to travel to their current location—they did have to sneak a lot, which took time. The darkness of the night shadowed the tower, dimming it, making it appear ominous the longer they stared at it.

Orihime was the first to look away as she continued down the alley. Sasori double-glanced at her before following behind, his hands in his sleeves as he walked absentmindedly beside her. "What are you going to do when you get there? How are you going to help?"

"I was hoping you'd clear a path for me to her," the orange-haired human stated in all seriousness. Now that they were closer, things were getting tenser.

Sasori scoffed. "Sure. Easy enough. But getting out will be ten times harder—remember what I said before?" She nodded so confidently that the red-head was almost convinced that she did know but chose to disregard that little fact. He scowled. "I'm not going to do it."

She halted, spinning on him. "Why not?" she asked.

"My reasons are classified, but they are still what I am," he said. "Besides, I have nowhere else to even go. As much as I'd hate to admit it, this is my home."

"Bu—"

"I don't think it will be soon, Akasuna, shinigami of the 11th Division," a young but deep voice sounded behind them, making the two freeze to the core. Sasori knew how it was exactly, having now only noticed the other's reiryoku—he cursed that he hadn't noticed it sooner. Orihime was staring wide-eyed over his shoulder, sweat beginning to accumulate on her body.

The red-head tried to calm himself as he slowly turned and took in the small form of Captain Hitsugaya, his penetrating green eyes glaring at him through the darkness, his white hair shivering in the passing wind. While Sasori did have some sort of relationship with the boy, he still wasn't particularly fond him of him. What's more was that the ex-nin knew what the prodigy could do.

He hated prodigy's.

Sasori nodded in acknowledgement, herding Orihime to stand directly behind him. "Captain Hitsugaya."

"Sasori Akasuna," the white-haired boy started, approaching them; Sasori's blood pumped faster with each step. "You have been caught aiding an intruder with their mission. What do you have to say?"

"It was worth it," was the prompt response. It was; it truly was. He learned things from her, without her even knowing that she was teaching him, that he never thought he'd realise in a million years or ever. He realised what was eternal, what was precious, the fact that, at heart, he was still like a young boy.

A young boy the way he was back in Suna, back in his old home, his birthplace.

What he learned in those few days with her was precious. And it was the precious things that lasted the longest; in memories, in names, in emotions.

They each gave him strength; a strength to protect them.

His fingers grasped the weaved hilt of his Zanpaku-to, his brain warning him that he would be exiled from Soul Society if he fought against this Captain; then again, everyone was fighting everyone these days, and he was allowed to wield his weapon in public, thanks to that rule—only that was meant to be against the ryoka.

"You are going to challenge me? That isn't wise, Akasuna," Hitsugaya warned, his hand reaching back to grasp the handle of his own weapon.

"You wouldn't understand," Sasori said, shaking his head ruefully. The area grew cold, tense, and he could feel Orihime shaking behind him. He gestured for her to move back further, back down the alley the way they were going. And at the right moment, Sasori pulled out his Zanpaku-to and brandished it. "Move with me, Sairentosureddo," **(1)** he muttered.

The blade shuddered and glowed as tendrils of light extended in an array from the hilt. Then, all of a sudden, the streaks went limp and the light faded, revealing an empty handle, so it seemed. Hitsugaya knew of Sasori's Zanpaku-to, but not exceptionally well as Sasori did keep to himself. There was one thing the short Captain had learned from the tales that were uttered by many other shinigami. It was a constant highlight in each story that it was hard to miss.

So he moved his feet back, gliding them across the surface, his hand slightly raising his blade from its scabbard.

What he learned was: Sasori's shikai lived up to its name.

It was deadly, and it moved.

"Run, Orihime," the red-head shinigami said.

"No."

Sasori didn't have time to look at her and yell his instruction again as Hitsugaya unsheathed his large Zanpaku-to from his back and readied it in front of him, the tip of the metal winking in the pale moonlight. "She won't get far," he said. "You're wasting your life."

"I had none before this," was the ex-nin's last response before the battle began.

Sasori raised the hilt his hand holding the hilt and instantly Hitsugaya felt something tugging at his brandished blade; he skidded back, the pulls gone as he put distance between them. The red-head struck again, cutting the air lengthways and the whipping sound of something thin cutting through air was the only warning Hitsugaya got as threads lashed at his skin, curling around his ankles and wrists and his Zanpaku-to.

The Captain gritted his teeth, glaring, before pulling his blade back and cutting the strings restricting it. Blood licked his wrists and ankles as the wire cut into his skin, but he ignored the pain, twirling his Zanpaku-to around and slicing the extended threads.

Sasori retreated back beside Orihime, gave her one look before pushing her into another alley. "Go!" She shook her head, fear evident in her large eyes. The ex-nin had no time to have a go at her when the sound of Hitsugaya calling forth his shikai was heard and the red-head steeled himself. He turned and ran, heading for an open space where he could unleash more of his shikai.

Also to get Orihime out of danger.

Hitsugaya followed, ice crawling after him, nipping at his heels as he tossed up dirt.

Then he was in a clearing, and he skidded to a halt, moving his Zanpaku-to in a crescent shape and muttering a few words before the threads thickened and lashed out viciously at the Captain. He guarded, protecting his body as the wire attacked continuously, without the help of their controller. Sasori thanked Kami that his Zanpaku-to was related to his previous abilities of a Puppet Master.

The battle went on.

After several minutes, the red-head would have to retract his string, leaving him open and let the ice to stretch towards him. He'd continuing dodging, but air was leaving him quickly. He swung again and again, until Hitsugaya had him figured.

The prodigy let the wire latch onto him, and before Sasori knew it, it was too late.

Ice shot up the strings, zeroing in on his hilt and then onto his fingers. By that time he was unable to let go of his blade, and within seconds he was encased within ice, his brown eyes trying to see through the frozen water but seeing only blurred figures.

At first he just saw the vague figure of the Captain, but then a flash of orange appeared before him, and he felt something banging against the ice, mixed with the cries of his name. Sasori would have scowled if he could move, but he couldn't.

She was supposed to have run, not stayed behind and let herself get captured.

The stupid girl.

His body was going cold, spreading from his extremities—his toes and fingers—and festering further towards the centre, to his beating heart. The blood in his veins turned to ice, and as his vision started to darken, he felt the pain of disappointment.

He wanted to see more, experience more, _feel _more.

This wasn't the type of art he liked.

It hurt.

* * *

"Sa-so-ri!"

There was a soft voice in the darkness, swimming around him, playing with him. He felt so cold, bitingly so, and it was nipping at his exposed flesh. He realised then that he was naked, his skin a light shade of blue.

He couldn't open his eyes though. The darkness was crushing, but at the same time keeping him floating in black space. There was nothing around. Nothing.

He had felt the odd sort of emotion flickering through his chest, but otherwise he had no recollection of ever experiencing that emotion. He swore he had only woken up.

"Mr. Grumpy-pants!"

There was that voice again, as well as a warming sensation in his chest like something was coming back alive. The vocals were heavenly, soft, reassuring, appreciative. He decided he liked it, and wished that he could reach out and touch the bearer.

His arm was still freezing, but he numbly lifted it nonetheless, his fingers aching as he stretched them out to poke around in the darkness.

There was nothing there, but he could still feel some sort of light or warmth reaching down to him.

"Little boy!"

And then it was like he resurfaced from the ocean depths, light hitting his eyes harshly that he flinched and rolled his head away, only to feel something soft caressing is cheeks. He wasn't aware that he had said something until he heard a chiming giggle right next to his ear and he unconsciously swatted at it, moaning.

His body was still cold and the light was too bright, but he could breathe now; he could feel. He could feel the touch of the sheets on his skin, the warmth of the light on his face, the tickling sensation of hair ghosting over his collar bone.

His eyes groggily opened, instantly meeting ones of grey that stared down at him in worry but relief. Sasori groaned, raising a hand to grab his head but his arm suddenly felt like lead and he let it drop back onto the cot.

He exhaled, closing his eyes again—they were hurting.

So he was alive.

Of that he was relieved.

Moreso that...

And then he reopened his eyes to meet smoky grey again.

Orihime!

Why was she tapping his forehead? She was peering at him curiously so that their noses touched. Sasori lost his breath at the contact, and proceeded to scare the living daylights out of the ryoka when she realised and started pumping his chest like mad.

He could feel his ribs beginning to cave so he roughly grabbed her small—but surprisingly strong hands it seemed—and lifted them above her head. Now there were a few things to take in: first of all, considering he was close to freezing before, he was somehow able to sit up in bed. Secondly, he could move his hands and stretch them. Thirdly, he had Orihime's hands hostage. And fourthly, his face was so close to hers that he could feel her hastened breath on her cheeks.

He was met with a huge smile, like she wasn't aware that he had her hands in one. "I'm so glad you're okay!" Somehow she had slipped them out and wrapped them around his clothed torso, stuffing her head into his chest and forcing him back onto the bed.

Sasori winced, but was ultimately glad—though embarrassed—for the warmth that she provided as she hugged him.

Hugged.

Slowly he put his arms on her back, creating an even pattern against her skin as he rubbed the muscle. Time didn't seem to matter.

He didn't know he had survived, or how she had survived either. From what he remembered, they were both as good as dead but that didn't seem to be the case. However, whatever the reason, he was glad that he was back, given a second—or third—chance and finding more about himself, about life, about the art that _is_ life and everything that came with it.

It was strange.

Back as a ninja he did not care for feeling anything, and even as a shinigami he thought the same thing. And all it took was one girl, someone who couldn't fight with her body but with her heart and mind, to push him in the right direction and show him.

She didn't even realise it though.

She didn't realise how much he had come to appreciate life, himself, and her in just a few days.

Was there even a way to repay her in kindness?

What would she want? Was there anything in particular? From memory, she had seemed to have feelings for this Ichigo, but of what sort, Sasori wasn't sure. Whatever the reason, he had a feeling he wouldn't have been able to recreate the same thing within the other boy.

Emotions were certainly difficult.

"What happened?" he asked, his throat raspy and dry that it came out barely a whisper. Orihime peeled from him within an instant and grabbed a nearby glass of water prepared for him, promptly thrusting it into his hands and forcing him to drink; she watched.

"Your opponent was challenged by another shinigami just before he was about to finish you off. They battled and I tried to get you out of the ice. Another shinigami found us while the other two battle further away. This shinigami..." she looked up, pondering again, "...was tall, hair in spikes and had bells in it. A girl with pink hair was on—"

"Captain Kenpachi and Lieutenant Kusajishi," Sasori named.

Orihime nodded. "They helped me get you out and took us somewhere safe."

Sasori frowned. They helped them? That was kind of strange, but not unheard of. Except that she was a ryoka, an enemy. "Is that where we are now?" He glanced at the ceiling, not completely recognising it as the 11th barracks or the 4th. In fact, the ceiling was made of white plaster, not of wood.

Where was he?

She shook her head. "No. We saved Rukia three days ago, and we were let go after three shinigami betrayed them. However, what you did did not go unnoticed, and you were given a punishment." He stared at her for her to go on. "You have to stay in the human world for six months; that is your punishment."

Not much of a punishment to him, but he wasn't one to complain. Soul Society was and wasn't his home, so he wasn't too upset about that fact, except that he didn't know where he'd be staying in the mean time or even where he was for that matter.

"Where am I?"

"You are in Mr Urahara's shop, in one of the back rooms. When we returned, he took you in and healed you," she explained, a small smile on her face. Sasori took another sip from his water, eyes scoping the area. He could feel the presence of others around the place, all of it foreign except for hers.

He had heard of Kisuke Urahara before, but only in history books. He was exiled as well, and never seen again. Sasori was glad he'd get to meet the man, because after all, he did sound sort of interesting.

"Is this where I'll be staying for my punishment?" he asked, stretching his arms and wincing when the cold set in.

Orihime lifted her small shoulders into a shrug. "He said you can stay here in the meantime. Oh!" She clapped her hands together excitedly, her face lighting up with joy. "You get to meet my friends! They all want to meet you, especially Ichigo." She beamed like she was so proud of herself.

While Sasori was feeling worry kick in. Ichigo was someone he knew she liked in some way. Wouldn't it be awkward?

The red-head had no time to answer as the sliding door to the room was pulled open and a boy stepped in, his brow set into an almost permanently looking frown. But what caught Sasori's attention the most was the shock of orange hair—the same shade as Orihime's—that shagged over the boys brown, warm eyes.

This must have been Ichigo.

He was staring at him, a silence setting in wherein which Orihime was beginning to feel a little awkward. "Uh, hello, Ichigo," she greeted with a slight bow.

He nodded at her in greeting before stepping forward and settling down next to the futon, crossing his legs. Almost instantly his brown eyes were set on Sasori's. "I want to thank you for what you have done for Orihime," he said.

Sasori now knew exactly why the female had gotten him confused when they first met. They did sound startlingly similar, plus they both had beacon-like hair colours. He didn't know what to say at first, as he partially missed what the boy said, so he just nodded curtly, earning him a frown.

"But I have to warn you, Sasori," Ichigo started, his jaw tightening. "If you harm her or any of my friends, than I won't hesitate to kill you."

"Beating me won't be as simple as you think," the red-head said; he noted Ichigo's skyrocketing eyebrows.

They lowered to an instant glare. "Why do you say that?"

Sasori let a smile enter on his lips as he met the others gaze firmly. "I'm special," he stated.

Ichigo went silent, his mouth slightly open as he pondered what to say. If Sasori had said it in a different tone, it would have suggested that he had a trump card up his sleeve, but since he spoke in an almost wistful, recognition tone... it was like a boy had said it; a young child.

The orange-haired male nodded in acceptance, his eyebrows softening as he sighed and ran a hand through is ruffled hair. "She told us your end of the invasion. Uryu wasn't particularly happy when she suddenly disappeared."

"Uryu?" he repeated.

Ichigo bobbed his head. "Yeah. He plans to have a talk with you."

"It seems I'm popular today."

"Today, and today only," Ichigo said pointedly, a heavy underlie in his tone.

"Don't trust shinigami?" Sasori asked; it was meant to be a little mocking.

The boy scowled, slamming his hand on his knee and leaning forward. "No, I don't quite yet."

"That's okay. I didn't really like them either."

"I—oh," he stopped short, scratching his neck before glancing at Orihime and nodding to her. "Are you sure?" he asked. The ryoka—not really now, was it?—nodded exuberantly, and a sigh escaped Ichigo's lips as he stretched his back before pushing himself to a stand. "Fine. Just be careful."

"I will," she sang.

And the male headed for the door, his fingers about to grasp the engraved handle before he stopped and looked over his shoulder back at Sasori. "Remember what I said. You bring her any harm, and I will kill you," he reminded. He left.

"Orihime." Said girl squeaked, tensing her entire body as she looked at the wounded red-head resting in bed. His lidded brown eyes were shadowed as he stared at her through blood red locks. "What did he mean?"

"H-Huh?" She started to chuckle awkwardly as she scratched the back of her head. "W-what do you mean?"

"I think you know exactly what I mean, _Hime_."

She blushed to the roots, freezing momentarily before she went lax in her spot, her hands dropping into her lap. Sighing, the girl raised her head to meet Sasori's gaze. "You can stay at my house, for the six months."

Now it made sense. The warning tone beneath Ichigo's voice as he first told him he wasn't afraid to inflict harm upon him should he, in turn, harm Orihime—that thought was preposterous. As he thought about it, though, Sasori was beginning to liken to the idea of staying at her house. While they were both of the opposite sex, they were also mature enough to not try anything in particular, and if they did, their relationship would have developed further for that to even happen.

As his thoughts strayed to this, Sasori himself went red and he covered his face, getting a concerned expression from Orihime.

"How can I repay you?" he asked, his question muffled by his hands.

"Can you cook?"

He shook his head. Truthfully he had never tried it, but he wondered if she could. From what he heard, most women liked to cook and were somewhat good at it, and so his stomach grumbled as he thought of food; what would Orihime's cooking be like, he wondered?

Little did he know, later on that week the knowledge that the orange-haired human couldn't cook was going to stay with him forever.

* * *

She had changed him. A lot.

While he still couldn't control his emotions, he learned more about them and what each one was like and how special they all were—even the bad ones. She taught him that, showed him that.

He'd never forget the night where he found he did have a heartbeat, something that he previously took for granted when he switched human flesh for wooden. He wondered if he had kept his human body back in his first life, if he still would have thought the same things, but the conclusion was naught.

No, things would not be the same, because there was no one there who had inadvertently given him the key to finding the secrets of his life. There was no Orihime, though. And he was a criminal then as well, of course.

So even as the years passed, dwindling from one, to three, to ten, to seventeen, Orihime continued to teach him; and he started to teach her.

He expressed his view on art, which she started to debate with him about, because it was fun and insightful. He told her how much she had meant to him and from that, their relationship deepened.

She'd still tease him when the opportunity came, calling him "Little boy" when he was acting like one and thus making him blush in embarrassment—especially if it was said in front of the others.

There were days—even hours and minutes—that he cherished and would always remember, such as the day she got pregnant.

It was on the day that she gave birth that she had told him through breaths, between contractions, that he had become a man in heart, only she didn't realise that he was still a little boy. After all, he sought those words from her like a little child would.

And even after all that time had passed by them, Sasori kept to himself that this woman had saved him from himself, without even knowing.

Without even trying.

Because that gift was more precious untold. More precious kept within him as he watched her. Because it was everlasting.

And all this only showed that despite her attempts to say that he had grown, he knew that he hadn't. He kept that secret to himself, like a child would tease a parent, waiting for the day the parent would ask what it was and the child would happily say it.

It just showed that he was **still just a little boy**.

_~fin~_

* * *

_1. – silent thread._

_Hai, it might be a little strange but I needed to get this pairing off of my chest. I really wanted to try one with a female from Bleach and a male from Naruto, and this pairing came up almost instantly. I like it now, I really do, specifically with the way I had written Sasori._

_Note: The voices I used are the English version, as both Ichigo and Sasori are voiced by the same people.  
_

_On that note, the end I am not satisfied with. I didn't know how to end it, but I wanted to make it... sentimental? Nah, not that much. I tried adding fluff and chose to tell their relationship over the years, rather than describe._

_The concept may have been a little weird but it honestly came out as I was writing. I never would have thought of this if I sat down and mulled it over. I kinda like it. It was fun to write in my free time, so it was just for fun. Thank you for reading. :D I appreciate it._

_. Please check my other BLExNAR stories, my poll in my profile (BLExNAR ideas), and if you want, feel free to check out my forum._

_Constructive criticism would be great, as well as a review if you like. :)_

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Naruto or Bleach._


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